


Parental Investment

by WaitingForMy



Series: Andy & B’s Stupid Newsies RPs [5]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Foster Care, Gen, Nunzio is a social worker because we said so, The Higginses have always been too good for this world, The siblings that write Newsies trash together stay together, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:34:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24578365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaitingForMy/pseuds/WaitingForMy
Summary: A series of companion stories to Theories of Conflict that focus on the Higgins family.
Series: Andy & B’s Stupid Newsies RPs [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1517465
Comments: 8
Kudos: 51





	Parental Investment

**Author's Note:**

> You may be asking yourself, “Why have the last couple chapters of Theories of Conflict taken longer than usual to come out?”
> 
> Meet Parental Investment.

“Are you excited to meet your new family, Anthony?”

Race smiled, somewhere between hopeless and defiant. “Yup, can’t wait to disappoint another basic, white, suburban couple.”

His social worker, an aggressively Italian man called Nunzio, sighed.

Race sometimes wondered if they gave him an Italian social worker to make him more comfortable or something. It didn’t. It kinda just added insult to injury.

“Anthony, I have spoken to the Higginses. They are very nice.”

Race nodded. “Oh yeah, I’m sure they are. They all are.”

“You haven’t been an only child in a while, have you?” Nunzio asked. “That will be nice. You’ll have the whole place to yourself.”

Race smiled tightly. “Yeah, great.”

‘ _ Only child _ ’. Nunzio always spoke like Race actually belonged to every family he stopped with. Race supposed he meant it to be encouraging or supportive or whatever, but it felt more like a reminder of what he’d lost and couldn’t find again. Adoptive parents wanted babies, not twelve-year-olds with PTSD who bummed cigarettes off high schoolers. This would be Race’s...what...tenth ‘home’ in the last seven years? None of them were that bad or anything, they just didn’t want him.

“Remember that older couple that said I was too energetic and stressed out their puggle?” Race reminisced absently, hunkering down in the passenger seat and curling his lanky legs up in front of him to rest his feet on the dashboard.

Nunzio batted at his legs. “Anthony, you must put your feet down.”

Race whined a nothing complaint, but dropped his legs as told. “Do the Higginses have pets?”

“I don’t believe so.”

He grunted in acknowledgement. This wasn’t necessarily a positive, or a negative, it was just a thing.

Nunzio pulled the car off the main road into a neighborhood, and Race perked up immediately. This was the same development Albert lived in. Albert had stuck with him through thick and thin. They met in kindergarten, when Race was still walking with crutches from the accident, and Albert had become his protector and undoubtedly his best friend. Race was even happier when they pulled into the driveway of the house that backed right up to Albert’s. It was perfect; he’d have somewhere to escape if he had to.

“Well, this is it,” Nunzio said, putting the car in park. It was a simple enough looking house, blue, kinda big, some nice trees and bushes, and a tidy front porch. Nothing special.

Race felt the usual churn of nervous anticipation in his stomach as he unbuckled. “Oh boy.”

A man and a woman stepped out of the front door and waved. They looked nice enough, in their late thirties or so, neat and generic like the house.

Oof, here we go.

Race got out of the car, hitching a polite smile onto his face, and turned to pull his big duffel bag out of the back seat.

“Hi,” the woman said, coming down the path that led up to the door. She sounded a bit bewildered, but was smiling.

The man, right behind her, asked, “You need any help with that, buddy?”

“Nah, I got it,” Race replied. “Thanks.” He swung the bag up over his shoulder, stumbling half a step as the weight hit his back, but he steadied easily and shifted to offer the man—Mr. Higgins, presumably—a polite handshake. “I’m Tony.”

Mr. Higgins smiled. “It’s so nice to meet you, Tony. I’m Joel.” His enthusiasm seemed genuine, but that wasn’t all that surprising. Most foster families were super into it, until they got a ‘problem kid’.

Race turned his smile to Mrs. Higgins. “Hi, nice to meet you.”

She smiled back. “I’m Rachel. We’re so happy to have you.”

“Yeah, thanks for having me.”

“Oh, sweetie,” she breathed, “of course.”

“I’ll be back to check up on him soon,” Nunzio, who had gotten out of the car and was now standing on the curb, said.

Mr. Higgins went to shake his hand, thanking him, and Race waved an awkward goodbye.

“Come on, Tony,” Mrs. Higgins said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Let’s take your things to your room.”

‘His room’, that was fun. Race nodded, resettling his bag on his back.

Mrs. Higgins led him into the house and up the stairs. “The other bedrooms are downstairs,” she explained, “so you have the whole upstairs to yourself. It’s just your bedroom and a bathroom. I know your room is pretty bland right now, but we can decorate it how you want.”

Race nodded. “Cool.”

Sure enough, the bedroom was bland. The walls were white. There was a twin bed with a plain blue comforter, a desk, and a dresser.

Race dropped his duffel bag at the foot of the bed and looked around, nodding. “Cool,” he said again.

“I, uh...know you probably want a little time to settle in, so I’ll be downstairs if you need me, okay?” Mrs. Higgins gestured towards the door.

“Yeah, thanks.” As she headed for the door, he turned to ask another question. “Oh hey, do you guys have a landline?”

“Of course. Do you mind my asking who you need to call?”

Race gestured vaguely over his shoulder, as if he were pointing towards the back of the house. “Your yard backs right up to my friend Albert’s house, and I wanted to creep him out.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Higgins laughed. “Sure, go for it. I’ll show you the phone.”

Race smiled, moving to follow her. “Thanks.”

She led him to an office downstairs, where the phone lived, then stepped back out into the hall. Race could hear her talking to Mr. Higgins.

“Who’s he calling?”

“Turns out he knows Albert DaSilva.”

“No way! That’s great!”

Race picked the phone up and dialed Albert’s number.

Albert’s mom answered. “Hello?”

“Hi, Ms. Knowles. This is Tony Folliero. Is Albert home?”

“Yes, he is. Let me get him for you.” Her voice became muffled. “Albert, Tony’s on the phone!”

Maybe a minute later, there was a shuffling sound on the line, then Albert’s voice. “Hey, Race. What‘s up?”

“I can see your house.” Race snickered, peering out of the office window.

“Wha— Did you run away again!?”

“No no no!” Race laughed. “I just got to the new foster house, and their yard literally backs up to yours.”

“Oh, you’re with the Higginses!” Albert shouted excitedly. “Mom, Tony moved in the Higginses! Okay, hold on.” Race could hear a door opening, and it sounded like the phone knocked against something, then Albert’s head poked over the top of the backyard fence. “Can you see me, now?”

Race grinned. “Yeah, hang on.” He stuck his head out of the office and called lightly. “Excuse me, Mrs. Higgins?”

“Yes, sweetie?” she called back. She sounded like she was in the living room.

“Is it okay if I go out into the backyard? I wanna say ‘hi’ to Albert.”

She appeared in the archway. “You can go into the backyard whenever you like; it’s yours now. The door is in the kitchen. I’ll show you.”

“Thanks,” he replied, hanging the phone up without giving Albert warning. “You’re really nice.”

Mrs. Higgins made a face like she was surprised and a little perplexed by this compliment. “So are you, Tony.”

She led him out into the backyard, which featured a large deck and a fire pit. Race thanked her again—he hated the walking on eggshells that came with new foster homes, but he was pretty good at it by now—before heading down the steps of the deck and trotting across the yard towards the fence. Albert had disappeared behind the fence again, but as Race came closer, he realized he was peeking through a hole in the wood.

Race moved to press his face against the fence, putting his eye right up to the hole. “Thisbe dear?”

“Fuck off,  _ you’re _ Thisbe,” Albert shot back.

Race laughed, straightening back up. “Yeah, you’re not pretty enough for Thisbe.”

“You’re not manly enough for Pyramus.”

“Duh, that’s why casting is a thing.”

Albert giggled excitedly. “Dude, I can’t believe you live  _ right here _ , now.”

Race’s smile soured slightly. “Yeah, let’s hope this one takes.”

“Promise you’ll try really hard, okay?”

“I always try really hard.” Race pouted. “Not my fault everyone wants a shiny new baby instead of a traumatized, preteen piñata.”

“Are babies shiny?” Albert asked.

“In a gross way,” Race replied with a sage nod.

“Ew.” Albert cringed. “Well, try hard, because I want you to live right here.”

Race glanced over his shoulder towards the house. “Yeah, it’d be really cool to be so close. We could, like, make a secret tunnel connecting our yards or something.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Albert’s eye disappeared for a moment, then it was back. “Hey, I gotta go. Mom’s makin’ lunch.”

“Okay, I’ll see ya later,” Race answered cheerfully. He turned to head back to the house, giving the back yard a cursory exploration on his way. Besides the porch and the fire pit he saw on the way out, there were some plants, and the grass was freshly mowed.

The Higginses seemed every bit your upstanding suburban couple. PTA bake sale folks, if they’d had kids. Race just hoped they actually  _ wanted _ kids, not just to complete their Ideal Family picture.

When he made it back into the house, both of them were sitting in the living room.

“Anthony,” Mrs. Higgins looked over the back of the couch, “we thought we might have something small for lunch, then take you out to dinner, tonight. Do you have a favorite restaurant?”

“Oh, yeah that would be cool.” Race replied. “I dunno, I like Italian.  _ Not _ Olive Garden, though—that’s not Italian, that’s just pasta shaped lies.”

“Oh, what about that little place by the square?” Mr. Higgins asked. “What’s it called?”

Mrs. Higgins nodded. “Roma’s, I think. It’s pretty good.”

Race shrugged. “Works for me.”

Mr. Higgins smiled. “Have you ever been there?”

“I don’t think so.” Race shook his head. “I don’t go out to eat much.”

“Well, we should go, and you can tell us if it’s real Italian food or not, a’right buddy?” Mr. Higgins tossed him a wink.

Race smiled a little awkwardly. He was hesitant to get too eager, as that had a history of not panning out well, but their cheeriness was rather contagious. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Great.” Mrs. Higgins stood up. “What do you want for lunch? Do you like fruit? I could slice up an orange.”

_ A single orange for lunch? Lord have mercy. _

“Yeah, that sounds great, Mrs. H,” Race lied, smiling easily.

“Please, Rachel,” Mr. Higgins laughed, “the boy needs more than an orange.”

“But if we’re going out to dinner, later—” she argued.

“He still needs more than an orange. Trust me, I was a twelve year old boy, once.”

Race laughed. Yeah, this might not be so bad.

“Okay, okay,” Mrs. Higgins held up her hands in surrender. “Come with me, we’ll get you something better.”

He nodded and followed her into the kitchen.

All the while, she prattled on. “We can make sandwiches. We have peanut butter and jelly, lunch meat, cheese. Mr. Nunzio didn’t mention any dietary restrictions, but in this house, we have a strict rule of ‘if you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it’. I’m sure there’s plenty of food all three of us will like. Let’s see...we also have soup, cereal, Pop-Tarts, hot dogs—”

“That all sounds great, Mrs. H,” Race assured her again. He always liked the first few days at new foster homes, when no one was used to each other yet, and they were trying to make a good impression; prove to themselves that they were just as perfect a family as they thought they were.

* * *

“So, Tony—Do you prefer Tony or Anthony, or something else?” Mr. Higgins asked at dinner, just after the waitress had taken their order.

“My friends call me ‘Race’,” he answered, “but Tony is fine.”

“Well then, Tony, what do you like to do?”

“Well, I run track at school,” he began, always happy to talk about himself, “and usual stuff, I guess—movies, video games.”

Mrs. Higgins nodded. “What movies do you like?”

“I like a lot of stuff with Nicholas Cage in it. Or like, on the opposite end of things, old Fred Astaire movies and that sorta thing.”

“Well, we have Netflix, so hopefully they’ll have what you want.”

He nodded. “Cool. Do you guys do, like, a family movie night or something?”

Mrs. Higgins’ face lit up. “We certainly can! Just name the night.”

“Oh, uh, yeah okay, I mean, whenever is fine?” he replied awkwardly.

Mr. Higgins clasped his hands together on the table. “Is there anything else you’re interested in?”

Race shrugged. “I like to dance, though I don’t, like, take classes or anything.”

Mrs. Higgins raised her eyebrows, and she and Mr. Higgins looked at each other for a moment. “Would you like to?” she asked.

Race sat up a bit straighter in his seat. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, that’d be awesome!”

She smiled. “We’ll find you a place, okay?”

“Oh my god, wow, thank you!” Race answered enthusiastically, grinning.

Lots of his foster parents had supported his interests, but never like this. Most of them had multiple kids to take care of. They didn’t have the extra time or money to offer things like dance lessons, and especially not so soon. These people didn’t even know him, and they were already so willing to commit. He loved it, of course, but he was a little bit nervous. It seemed too good to be true. What was the catch?

“So how about you guys? What do you do?” Race asked, tucking his legs up to sit cross legged on his side of the booth.

“Well, I work for a supply company...” Mr. Higgins began.

“...and I work part time in marketing for a non-profit,” Mrs. Higgins finished. “I work from home most of the time, so I’ll be there for you.”

“Plenty of time to bond,” Race joked.

She chuckled. “I hope so, sweetie.”

* * *

Race was never able to sleep, his first night at a new home. There were all these new noises, new smells, new everything. After about three hours of staring blankly at the ceiling, he’d had enough and got up. If he got yelled at for wandering absently around the house at one o’clock in the morning like the ghost of a murdered Victorian child, so be it.

He slowly traipsed down the stairs, toes before heels like a horse, because he had learned that this made less noise than walking like a person. Of course, whispering ‘clip-clop’ under his breath sort of negated any silencing effect, but it’s the thought that counts. He walked around the living room, just checking things out, wondering how long he’d end up staying. It was always a weird balancing act, being in a foster home; he wanted to settle in and be comfortable, but not so much that he became dependent on the familiarity, which could be gone in an instant. He usually stayed with any given family for a few months, sometimes only a few weeks if it was an especially bad fit, but so far the Higginses seemed like a good fit. Granted, ‘so far’ hadn’t even been a full day, but still, you take what you can get.

He hadn’t actually asked, but he got the distinct impression that he was their first foster child. Their house rules—be respectful, clean up after yourself, ask us before you go anywhere, and go to church—were waaay too generic and reasonable for people used to dealing with troubled children. They even said they would buy him a cell phone to keep in touch with them, while he was out. They seemed incredible, which naturally led him to believe it wouldn’t last.

He wandered into the office, where the phone was, and looked around. There was a wedding picture in a frame on the desk. He moved over to pick it up and get a closer look. They were both somewhere in their mid-twenties, and they looked ridiculously happy. It was really cute; they seemed properly, stupidly in love. 

When he went to set the picture frame back down, he accidentally jostled the computer mouse, bringing it out of sleep. The computer wasn’t password protected—how wholesome—and so the internet window that had been left open came up, revealing a search for ‘authentic Italian recipes for beginners’.

Race couldn’t help but smile. They were really trying hard, weren’t they? Looks like Albert’s wish might actually come true. Maybe Race could stay here a while.


End file.
